


Damnation by Conversation

by HerMajestyEvie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode: s05e16 Dark Side of the Moon, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:35:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22335652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HerMajestyEvie/pseuds/HerMajestyEvie
Summary: What if, when Roy and Walt shot the Winchester's, things went a little differently?What if Dean still went to Hevean, but Sam went somewhere else?What if Sam ended up in Hell?
Comments: 14
Kudos: 33





	1. Damned before life could begin

**Author's Note:**

> Alright guys. If you're new, welcome! I'm a delight, and I won't hurt you at all! If you're returning, you clearly haven't been hurt enough.  
> I'll just turn up the pain for you guys, yeah?  
> Alright, let's do this.

The shotgun rang out, and it was the last thing Sam heard before he died. 

He didn’t know what he’d expected, really. Maybe some part of him had  _ hoped  _ that he’d saved enough lives to redeem himself  _ just enough  _ to earn a piece of paradise. How foolish. How completely, and utterly, foolish. 

He was the abomination. The freak. He was the one who angels practically spat on, and who broke the world. He drained demons like some vampire, and was destined to become the vessel of the most famous sinner ever. 

Why had he ever thought that he’d earn a place in Heaven?

So when Sam died, killed by hunters as the monster he was, he almost wasn’t surprised to wake up in Hell. 

Xxx

If there was one thing weirder than reliving the fourth of July, it was talking to Cas through the Impala’s dash. He had no idea what was going on, really, but he had one key question. 

“If I’m in Heaven, then where’s Sam?”

Cas fell silent. That should have been the first sign. 

“Cas? Cas, where’s Sam. He should be here, right?” Tendrils of panic wound their ways about Dean’s heart, squeezing it tight. “Cas, answer me dammit!” It took slamming his hands on the wheel for Cas to answer. 

“He hasn’t gota Heaven, Dean.” 

“Why not?” Dean growled, leaning into his words, despite Cas not really being there. 

“He’s an-”

“No don’t you dare! Don’t call him an abomination again!” 

Dean forgot many things about Cas. He forgot that the angel had more power than he’d ever seen before. He’d forgotten that Cas had levelled cities because someone commanded it. He forgot that Cas was something most people feared. 

He remembered all of that very quickly. 

“You listen to me closely, Dean Winchester. Your brother, however good his intentions, released  _ Lucifer  _ from his cage. He does not  _ deserve  _ a place in Heaven, and he will  _ always  _ be an abomination. Is that clear.”

Dean didn’t reply. He just gritted his teeth, and tightened his hold on the wheel.

“Great. How do I get outta here?” He asked at last, determined to get Sammy back the moment he escaped. 

“Michael will raise you once he finds you, but that must not happen. Do you see a road?”   
“What?”   
“A road, Dean. Is there some sort of road or path around you?”   
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean replied, slightly confused. “I’m in the Impala right now, road right ahead.”   
“Good. I need you to follow it. You’ll reach the garden, where Joshua resides, and he can help us find God.” It was Cas’ last chance. 

“Can’t we just summon this dude once I’m alive, an, you know, Sammy’s out the pit?” He shuddered at the thought of his brother on the racks, at the mercy of Lucifer and all his demons. Then again, he kind of deserved it. 

He mentally berated himself for that thought. 

“This is an opportunity we won’t have again. You  _ must  _ find Joshua, Dean,” Cas growled. “And don’t let the angels find you!”   
Before Dean could reply, static overcame the connection, and a giant searchlight beamed down from overhead. 

With no other option, Dean drove. 

Xxx

Lucifer had been surprised, to say the least, when he felt Sam’s soul depart his body. He was even more surprised to find his soul descending to Hell. A quick thought and he had Sam’s soul redirected from the racks to the throne room, which he quickly emptied of all demons. 

Just the two of them. 

Sam came to with a gasp, staring round in wild panic before reality came crashing down, and he saw who, exactly, sat before him. 

“Lucifer,” he growled, scrambling to his feet and going for his gun, only to realise he was unarmed. After all, he was just a soul. 

“Samuel,” Lucifer acknowledged, getting to his feet. “I must say, I’m quite surprised to see you here.”

“Why? Didn’t you have a hand in every aspect of my life?” Sam’s voice dripped with sarcasm. 

“I don’t mean it like that,” Lucifer calmly countered. “I mean that you’re _ dead. _ I’d thought that you and your brother were better than that.” 

Sam ignored the latter statement. “You knew I would come to Hell? Didn’t think to give me a heads up?” If there was one thing he was determined to do, it was to not show Lucifer how afraid he was. He may be on the devil’s terrain, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t fight.

“I didn’t for certain, but my brothers have never been ones to allow the impure among their ranks.”

Though Sam tried, he couldn’t help but flinch at that word.  _ Impure.  _ As if he needed a reminder. As if where he was wasn’t enough. 

Lucifer, too, realised he’d hit a nerve. He didn’t want that; this was his true vessel, the one who was made for him, who was his human counterpart. He needed Sam happy, needed him to want to say ‘yes’. 

So he continued.

“I don’t mean to say you’re bad, Sam, only different. You’re just like me.” 

“I’m  _ nothing  _ like you,” Sam spat, taking a step back as Lucifer took one forward. 

“You’re not the younger brother, always in the elder’s shadow? You didn’t rebel against an unforgiving father, you weren’t forced out of your home because you wanted to have your own ideas?”

Sam wore his anger like a mask, desperate to hide how many nerves Lucifer was hitting. Lucifer, of course, could see through the hatred; like he’d said, him and Sam were alike. 

“I won’t say it,” Sam said at last, once it became clear Lucifer wasn’t going to speak again. 

“I’m not asking you to. I just want to talk.”

“Can’t we do this when I’m alive?” Sam asked, with no intention of ever being face to face with the devil again. 

Lucifer smirked, seeing right through Sam’s lies. “Why would I do that? You’re here now.” 

“You’re not going to send me back then?” Sarcasm and anger, Sam’s tools against the devil. No gun, no knife, no  _ anything.  _ He was royally screwed. 

“I will, eventually, once you listen to me,” Lucifer said, taking yet another step forward, then another, then another. 

Sam backed up, but a snap of Lucifer’s fingers had a chair materialising right behind Sam, and he fell into it. Chains came from nowhere, wrapping around his body, prohibiting all movement from below the neck. Lucifer had a gleam in his red eyes, and a smile on his face, both speaking of a being who’d seen torture beyond all imagination. 

And now, all of his attention was on Sam.

Sam said nothing, waiting to see where this would go, whilst moving his wrists minutely to see how much give they gave him. The answer? None. 

Truly, royally, completely fucked. 

“You can deny it all you like, Sam, but this will only end one way.” Lucifer returned to his throne, sitting with his hands clasped over his legs. His vessel, Nick, was slowly deteriorating, with burns covering half his face. Other than that, though, the man looked identical to how he’d been the last time Sam’d seen him; same clothes, same dead look to his eyes, same amount of unintelligible power leaking from every pore. 

“Because destiny says so, right?” Sam would stand by his sarcasm until the very end… or whatever came after death. 

“Destiny,” Lucifer repeated, rolling the word over his tongue. “If you truly think destiny exists, then my father planned this. He orchestrated my rebellion, and the Fall. Every tragic act that’s ever occured, by his design. If destiny exists, isn’t he the true devil?”

Sam’s heart stopped, because he knew exactly where Lucifer would go, and he didn’t want to have those thoughts shoved in his head, no matter how much he wanted to destroy them. 

Because he’d had them before. He’d questioned God many times since the apocalypse began, and he’d continued to question Him with every interaction with an angel. They all spoke of free will as if it were an illusion, as if humans were simply following some script, but then that would make Lucifer’s words true; Sam’s life had been doomed from the start, all because God wanted it to. 

“No, that was all you,” Sam said, praying for his words to be true. The alternative would ruin him. “Free will exists, and I can still say no. I’ll never be your vessel.” 

“We’ll see. You are, after all, at my mercy here.” Lucifer smirked, and snapped his fingers. 


	2. Hell comes in many forms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You ready? You ready for it? You sure? Yeah?

“Ash?” Dean asked, unable to believe his ears. “Son of a bitch, you’re- you’re- wow.”   
“I know, I know,” Ash announced, arms out wide to show off his own personal heaven. “Look, I heard about you coming here, but where’s Sam?”   
Dean’s face fell from one of joy, to that of immense grief. 

“He’s- he’s ok, right?” Ash tentatively asked, pulling out two beers. “He’s alive?”   
“No,” Dean spat, grabbing a beer and downing a large gulp. “No he’s dead too.”

“So- so where…” Ash trailed off, catching the sight of Dean’s crestfallen expression. “He’s downstairs?” 

“As far down as he could go,” Dean spat, slumping into a chair. “I mean, what’d you expect from the freak?”   
One moment, Dean was gulping down his beer. The next, Ash had smacked him across the face with all his might. 

“What was that for?” Dean demanded, getting to his feet in such a rage that his chair fell over. 

“He’s your brother!” Ash couldn’t believe it. He absolutely couldn’t believe it. Those boys had been so codependent that he’d first thought them lovers. But now… 

“Clearly that wasn’t enough,” Dean spat. 

He’d just had to live through all his greatest memories, but then… 

_ Sam and him, celebrating a job well done in a bar. Both slightly tipsy, Dean moreso, enough that he didn’t say anything when Ruby swooped in, all smiles and breasts and black eyes. Sam left like a puppy on a leash, following her out back, Dean too distracted by a blonde with legs three miles long to notice.  _

_ Another night, Dean once more on top of some chick. Another good night, but over and done with now. Sam had snuck in during the early hours to find an almost passed out Dean.  _

_ Dean had been too out of it at the time, simply seeing Sam’s mused hair and rumpled clothes, and sticking his thumbs in the air as any proud brother would do.  _

_ Except, looking on now, he could only see the slightly too red lips, the brunette outside, the glint of power in Sam’s eyes. He’d had a good night that night. Sam had taken advantage of it.  _

_ Sam had taken advantage of  _ every  _ good night, using Dean’s distraction to suck that bitch dry.  _

_ Every night, he became more of a monster, and Dean had been too distracted to notice. _

“Do you have any idea what we’ve been through?” Dean demanded of Ash, finally coming back to himself. “It’s the Apocalypse down there, capital ‘A’ Apocalypse. And Sam started it.”   
Ash just shook his head. “You’ve changed.” 

“You have no idea what I’ve been through.”   
“Clearly. But you don’t give up on family. Especially not  _ you _ .” 

Ash turned away, striding purposefully to the Roadhouse door and beginning to draw on it. 

“What’s that?” Dean asked, slowly following. 

“What do you care?” Ash replied, pushing the door open with a slam of his hand. He indicated to the door with a tilt of his head. “That’s your way out.”

“Out?” 

“Yeah. You’ve been here a few times, never stuck around too much. I know how this goes.” Ash almost sounded sad about it. “Same place, every time, so off you go.” And he walked away, back to his computer behind the bar, cleaning up glasses already shining in the light. 

Dean took his cue, and walked out the door. 

Funnily enough, the angels expected that, which was exactly why Dean found himself face to face with Zachariah. 

Xxx

“What did you do?” Sam demanded, checking himself for anything different. 

Indeed, something had changed, but nothing of the painful type; first, Sam wore a plain white t-shirt and faded blue jeans. Second, he stood with Lucifer in an ornate bedroom, a four poster a metre behind him, the opposite wall made up entirely of bookshelves and books. A simple chest of draws to his left, and a lone door to the right. 

“I thought you’d want to be somewhere more comfortable,” Lucifer answered, sticking his hands in his pockets. 

Lucifer didn’t elaborate. Sam chose to play along, but not before expressing his exasperation with a large sigh. 

“For what?” Facing down the Devil himself, Sam could  _ not  _ be separated from his sass. 

“Is it too much to want to talk?”   
Sam wanted to answer ‘yes’, but he wouldn’t dare say that word within five miles of Lucifer. And both of them knew that.

So Sam said nothing. 

“Do you know my story, Sam?” Lucifer continued, pacing the room. “I loved my father, more than anything. Anything he commanded, I would do in a heartbeat. But then, of course, he made  _ you _ . You… you hairless apes. And he asked us to bow down to you, to love  _ you _ more than  _ him _ . 

“I refused. I couldn’t do that, couldn’t love something so flawed when perfection sat before me. So he ordered me to fall. I refused, of course, so he then ordered Michael.” Lucifer paused, looking to Sam for the first time. 

Sam, who had taken a seat on the bed, trying and failing to ignore the story, because it was just another way for Lucifer to try and get the big ‘Yes’. 

“Michael, the loyal son, who would never disobey our father. We went to war, me against him. Eventually, he won, and he cast me out. He forced me to fall with a sword to my back, pushing me out of Heaven when I was on my knees. 

“Can you imagine that, Sam? Can you  _ imagine  _ your father ordering you to leave, and your brother doing nothing to stop him? Support him, even?” Lucifer’s smile spoke of sorrow, his eyes grieving what he’d lost.

_ All a trick. All a trick, _ Sam thought. But at the same time… 

_ “If you walk out that door, don’t you ever come back.”  _

_ “I want you to lose my number.” _ _   
_ _ “Freak.” _ _   
_ _ “Monster.” _ __   
Sam didn’t answer. He didn’t need to; Lucifer knew exactly what was going through his head. 

“I was left to rot in Hell for eons, the fires here burning away at my Grace, all because I loved my father too much. How is that fair?” Instead of pacing, Lucifer took a step forward, closer to Sam. “My brothers, and sisters, speak of destiny, as if Dad has orchestrated all of this. How can you call me a monster, then, when I’m exactly what I was meant to be?”

Sam said nothing, simply stared ahead, his face a blank mask. He wouldn’t give Lucifer the satisfaction of seeing how much his story had affected him. 

Because, no matter how much he tried to deny it, Sam could relate. He knew  _ exactly  _ what it was like to be pushed out of your home, your father disowning you, your brother turning his back. He knew what it was like to be a monster, when you had no choice initially in the matter. 

But Lucifer had made his choices, had  _ chosen  _ to do evil, just as Sam had chosen to drink the demon blood. Just because the Devil had a sob story, didn’t mean Sam could forgive him. 

“I see,” Lucifer said after some moments of silence. “Well, if you won’t talk to me now, you will soon enough. Call me when you’re ready to talk. I can wait forever, after all. ”

With that, he disappeared. 

Sam immediately went to the door, but opened it only to reveal a small, clean bathroom. In the whole room, there were no windows, no other doors, no way out. He was stuck until he broke, and agreed to  _ talk _ with the Devil. 

“That will never happen,” Sam muttered to himself, going over to the bookshelf to select his first form of entertainment. 

It was going to be a long eternity. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else wondering how long precious Sammy will go without breaking? A year? A decade? A century? ;)


	3. Breaking at the seams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this has taken so long. I'll try to update sooner next time!

It didn’t take Sam long to realise exactly what he’d got himself into; every last centimeter in his gilded cage was designed to break him. 

The drawers held several pairs of the same plain top, same plain sweatpants, and same plane underwear. His shoes were comfortable, but nothing special. The walls stood blank, their crimson red adorned with nothing at all, and the colour itself practically muted. Simple oak furniture, simple white sheets.

But the books were the worst; every last one of them told the story of someone forced down the wrong path, kicked out of their own homes for something they had no control over. In each and every one, the story was designed to make you pity the estranged character, rooting for their success. Some of them were books Sam knew and loved; some were tales he knew well in their original format, but had been altered to suit Lucifer’s needs; some he had never heard of, and strongly suspected weren’t  _ actual  _ books, what with the plot being so similar to Lucifer’s own. 

Lucifer had orchestrated everything, making it so that Sam was  _ so  _ bored, he had no choice but to read those books, slowly submerging himself beneath the propaganda and manipulation. 

But Sam refused to break. 

He exercised from the moment he woke up, to the moment he passed out from exhaustion.  _ How  _ he could sleep as just a soul, he didn’t know, but he wasn’t about to question anyone lest they remove such a reprieve from him. 

So he ran from wall to wall, did pull ups from the bathroom door and bookshelves, and countless numbers of squats and press ups. Day after day, he pushed his body to its limits, forcing it to endure more and more, until eventually he reached his limits. 

But ten in, the dreams started. 

They were nothing at first; a bad memory, or some fear he harboured. Eventually, it was of his mother’s death, Jess’, Dean’s, their father’s. Night after night, their screams slowly hammering away in his head. 

But Sam knew they were Lucifer’s doing, so still he didn’t break. And they got worse. 

Dean leaving him to rot in Hell forever. Bobby putting a bullet through his skull for all his sins. Cas condemning him as nothing more than a monster. His mother disowning him, refusing to have someone so tainted as her son. 

On and on, worse and worse. 

Eventually, Sam stopped with the excessive exercise, instead needed to keep himself awake. He walked around the room to no end, keeping himself active enough to be alert, but not tire. When that failed, he’d recite every country in the world, then their capitals, then their continent. Then, everything he could remember from Stanford, from Law school all those years ago. 

Day after day, he did everything he could to stay awake, all of it failing; it wasn’t stimulating his brain at all. 

Eighteen years was what it took before Sam sat down with his first book, desperate to stop the dreams, desperate to salvage some part of his sanity. 

Eighteen years alone, and Sam Winchester began to crack. 

Xxx

Lucifer couldn’t have been happier. 

Sam, of his own accord, was reading the books, and Lucifer knew Sam well enough to know that, eventually, he’d come to see his point of view. They were made for each other, after all. The perfect pair. 

Sure, Lucifer had had to speed up time in Sam’s bubble, one day for Lucifer equating to a year for Sam, and less than an hour for earth, but that wasn’t cheating! It was simply hurrying things along. 

Soon enough, Samuel Winchester would pray to the Devil himself, and Lucifer would be more than happy to answer when that happened. 

Xxx

“Dean Winchester,” Zachariah drawled, strolling towards Dean (and the two angels holding him) as if he controlled the world. Maybe he did. “I gotta say, you didn’t make it easy for us. All that running and hiding. We almost lost you a few times, but you’re here now, and everything’s ok again.” 

Dean simply glowered at the asshole, attempting to bore through his skull with just a look. He said nothing. 

Zachariah continued despite seemingly talking to a brick wall. “Tell me, how do you like Heaven? Good, right?” 

“Go to Hell you dick,” Dean eventually growled, hoping that, with enough aggravation, Zachy might send him back to earth from sheer annoyance alone. 

“I see.” Zachariah immediately lost his faux jovial demeanor, the cold ruthlessness Dean had come to associate with the angel making its appearance at last. “Well, I don’t suppose you’d like to make this easy on yourself and say ‘Yes’ now, would you?” 

Dean just glowered. 

“No? Well then, enjoy the show.” 

And so it continued, Dean steadily growing more and more hateful of his screw up of a brother, each betrayal driving a further wedge between them. 

Until at last, that all changed, when Dean found himself standing in the most incredible garden he’d ever seen, a kindly man waiting there for him. 

“Hello Dean,” the man said, a small smile gracing his lips. “I am Joshua, the gardener here.” 

“You here to try and screw me over to?” Dean growled, no longer quite so up for Cas’ plan if it meant spending another second in the presence of yet another dick with wings.

“No, no,” Joshua replied, clasping his hands in front of him. “I have a message, though. From God. He wants you to stop looking for him.”   
“What?” Dean asked, certain he’d misheard. “Does he not know what’s going on here?”   
“He knows, but he thinks it’s not his problem. He won’t get involved.”

Dean was practically vibrating with anger. “You tell that son of a bitch that he’d better get down here and sort out his kids’ messes, else I’m gonna ram every possible god-killing thing I have up his ass.” 

“He isn’t coming, Dean. I’m sorry, but this is something you have to figure out for yourself.” Joshua turned away, but quickly looked back. “Oh, and by the way, he’s decided he wants you to remember this, so he won’t be making you forget Heaven upon your return.” 

With that, Dean sat up gasping for breath, back on the bed he’d died on. 

But Sam still lay dead beside him. 


	4. Mistakes

Sam knew it was all a trick. He wasn’t stupid. That was exactly why he read the same book every day for three months, memorising every single word, then reciting it to himself over and over. When his brain finally stopped needing to put effort in, instead choosing sleep, he would pick out another book. 

The first had detailed how demons were created. Sam chose it because it was nothing he hadn’t heard a thousand times; how God made humans, commanded his favourite son to love them more than him, and blah blah blah. He still felt exactly the same way about his captor. 

The second was, essentially, a list of every reason why Lucifer was a good king, fleshed out to make it much more of a story. Once again, Sam felt nothing different. 

On and on it went, four years passing in such a manner, until, eventually, he picked the wrong book. It wasn’t about the fall, nor the demons, nor anything else Sam couldn’t care less about. 

It was about Michael. 

From how it was written, Lucifer wrote it himself. He spoke of his love for his brother, from back before his fall, when they’d been a family. Mentions of Raphael and Gabriel occurred throughout, but always at the centre, his love for his brother. 

It left him homesick, longing for the day he could return to Earth. But at the same time, it made him see himself, see how he too adored Dean to the ends of the Earth, and how he’d do anything for him. 

It was the first time Sam felt any semblance of sympathy for the devil.

He couldn’t bear to stop reading it, a realisation that terrified him. He couldn’t read it again, no matter how tempted he was. He couldn’t feel that again. 

The moment the last page was turned, the book was pushed behind the shelves. Out of sight, most certainly not out of mind.    
And so the cycle continued. 

On and on, Sam read and memorised and recited, and repeated. But then he picked another mistake, one questioning free will. It left Sam with one question: Who made the Devil? Did Lucifer make himself that way, with his choices and actions? Or was it God, designing his son?

Angels believed in destiny, in a lack of free will. Sam believed otherwise. 

But still that book, those thoughts, stayed with him. It joined the other behind the bookshelves.

Another year, another mistake. A tale of Lucifer’s fall, but in such a heartfelt and personal way that Sam couldn’t help feel something for him. Parallels existed throughout their lives, this one the clearest of them all. 

_ “If you go out that door, don’t you dare come back.” _

_ “You are no longer my son. You are not welcome in Heaven.”  _

Years cut of from all they’d known, their families abandoning them. Regardless of the reasons, they’d still lost everything, and suffered - albeit in different ways - for it. 

The book went behind the shelves. 

On and on, that hidden stash building up, until one last book remained unread. 

Sam told himself he was desperate, that that was why he opened it up. He’d thought he could just read the first page, know exactly what he was getting into, and put it down. Burn it, even. 

He should have known that wouldn’t happen. 

The day Sam opened the handwritten journal was the day everything changed. No longer was he consuming stories typed up, their narratives ones Sam could remove himself from. This was personal, the story of Lucifer’s time in a Cage designed to punish him. The demons were the ones to provide him comfort, to show him a love he’d been denied for so long. Those he despised gave him what he was desperate for, thus detailing just how little his family cared. 

His life had been one of mistakes from love, the punishments not fitting the crimes. No one deserved to be ostracised for love, for something they couldn’t control. No one had control over their actions, really, when they acted out of love, or when they’d been betrayed by a love they’d thought eternal. 

The worst thing? At some point, Sam stopped seeing the writer as Lucifer. 

He was seeing himself. 

Xxx

Dean built a pyre, wrapped the body, lit the fire, and walked off. He didn’t stay to say a few words, nor to watch his brother turn to ash. No tears, nor plans to bring him back. 

He just burnt the body, and walked away. 

Back to the Impala, back to the road. Cas found him at some point, joining him in his search for some sort of salvation. 

Bobby eventually dragged them home, needing answers on what was happening, on why Dean hadn’t mentioned his brother once. 

The visit was short. Bobby quickly realised how quickly Dean abandoned his brother, and chased him out with a shotgun. He made it his mission to save Sam from Hell, since clearly no one else cared for that boy. 

Xxx

“Lucifer,” Sam breathed, after fifty years of Hell. 

“Sam.” The devil stood there, in all his angelic glory. “What do you want?”   
“Was that true,” Sam asked. He sat on the bed, the book at the end. 

“Every last word. I want you to know who I am.” 

Sam felt nothing, his emotions long past understandable, even to him. He should have been screaming at Lucifer, attempting to run, escape, kill him by any means possible. 

Instead, he did nothing as Lucifer walked around the bed, coming close enough that he could reach out a hand for Sam to take. 

“Do you want to get out of here? You can come see my kingdom. I don’t want to see you trapped in here any longer. I care about you, Sam.”   
Maybe it was the fifty years alone. Maybe it was because he’d been manipulated by those books. Maybe it was because he finally understood that Lucifer was the only one who cared for him. 

Whatever the reason, Sam took the devil’s hand. 

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah? No?  
> Ok, so far, might make this a Samifer story, might not. Might have a happy ending, probably won't. Definitely not giving up, and will be on a fornightly update cycle.  
> Feel free to nudge me if I take too long!


End file.
